


Strange Company

by Magdela



Series: Shadowed Souls [1]
Category: Faerie Folklore
Genre: F/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Original Character(s), Other, POV Third Person, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22097230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magdela/pseuds/Magdela
Summary: The meeting of a strange female would soon change the young lord's life. In which way, he did not know, but there was one thing he could recognize. The color of her silver eyes promised only one thing: Chaos.
Series: Shadowed Souls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590496





	Strange Company

The male sat with his arms planted on his thighs. The white sleeves of his bottom-up had long since been tugged up, leaving them uneven and slowly wrinkling on either side. His grey vest, too, would similar a similar fate thanks to his posture. The vest had been unbutton-ed, leaving the garment to gap around his torso, rather than hold it attractively. His charcoal slacks creased below his heavy arms. His foot, beautiful, angled, black leather dress shoes, were dosed in mud. It traced through the house, moving below the arch of the front doors, past the entrance, into the parlor, before into the far sitting room. It was on his carriage, his floor, his carpets, and now upon his furniture. However, not all of it was near him. All of the mess, and its beginning, sat across from him. It was across the white couch and across the ivory skin of the female before him. 

She was far different than he. She was not dressed finely, or barely dressed at all. Her petite body, paired with lean limbs, was practically on display in a little dress. It circled around her bust line in a high arch and dipped down to either side of the crescents of her arms. It was fixed to her torso, the boning tight, with it clinging to her tiny waist before flaring at the skirt. There was no hoop, no lining, causing her hips to look smaller than other ladies'. However, the flow was relaxed and ended with a hoop just at her knees. Its lack was not striking to him, as he has seen other women in similar items and less. What was playing with his mind was its make. For when he first saw her, to when he picked her up, to now, he stared at the texture lining the costume in perfect rows. From the expanding and shrinking curve of her chest to the flare of her hips, down to her knees, were perfect, glossy, and pitch-black raven feathers. There were no creases, no obvious stitches, or overlapping material. If he didn't know any better, he'd think they came right out of her ivory skin. Even beneath the mud, they flared with ruffled beauty. The dirt lined the little hairs standing on edge as if angry. They rustled with her movement, shifting with the softest of flutters with her movements, which were few and many in the movements. Another darkness moved with her. The hair was as straight as towers' steeples, and as long as the Thames, and as black as night followed from her heart-like crown, to curl in little circles on his couch. There were no cuts, no differences, but it clung to her arms like running ink, hung around her face like etchings, and along her body like ribbons. In the right light, it almost appeared blue, but he knew not to trust his eyes. It was enough of a challenge to look at her. 

Her features seemed so clear, reading clearly in his mind, but like glittering sunshine, they subtly blinded him with change. Her face was a good example of such. When he first saw her, he thought she was a woman of his age or older. Her features were sharp from the crown of her head to the arches of her brows, the curves of her cheeks and the pleasant dips below, to the clean, soft curve of her jaw. Her lips were pale and full between the flush of her lower lips to the cupid's bow of her upper, but not oddly so. Her lips carried the pleasant dip above before the arch of her nose curved above. Its arch was long and nostrils thin. Her eyes were open and large, but not childlike. He thought her to be the most beautiful creature with his favorite features. And then he looked away. When his eyes came back to her, a coat now in hand to help her, he was startled at the change. The features remained their pleasantness, a loveliness he couldn't compare or name, but they were not the same. Her face was fuller with a youthful heart. Her eyes were wider and more open. Her nose kept its length but shift from a long curve to a dainty button. Her cheeks had shrunk with sharper bones and a long jaw. The longer he stared at her, the less he could remember what he saw before. Her image sat in his mind, unchanging and unchallenged, while his skin crawled beneath the thoughts. Even now, staring at her, he couldn't place it all. 

She sat over as well, those feathers ruffling against her thighs and stomach, but her form was not the same. Her arms were extended to the glass table. Books and fine china had been pushed aside, if not all removed, in order for a full platter to be set out before her. Plates of cakes, powdered sweets, small bits, and bowels of fresh jellies crossed the table. Used silverware, stained by their frosting or color, rested beside each plate, or on the table. The sight made his stomach twitch, but not more than when he looked up. Her arms were planted forward, reaching out from dish to dish. Spoons and forks were brought to her mouth, consuming a bite of each thing, one after another. Her sculpted cheeks were flushed with foods before sinking back with a swallow and filled again. Frosting clung to her lips and coloring on the edges of her lips. It made her look youth but somehow not ridiculous. Her extended across the table, a longer reach closer to him, to pick up some baked toastie. It was then he caught a closer look at her mud-colored arm. It was long and slender from the curve of her shoulder to the indent of her elbow to her delicate wrist. Her hand was small, but her fingers were longer than average, mainly because of the length that extended from her nails. He knew enough from his sisters that the shape and length her desirable for a lady. Yet, with her limb covered in muck and her nails carrying something..darker tucked beneath, he could not but sit back from her extension. Her hand moved back, slower at his movement, before bringing the item back with it. She sat back too, the item brought to her lips, a shade darker after her tongue ran across them, before taking a bite. 

He heard her hum before he saw her leg rose from the floor. From her thigh ton, the limb was covered. Worst were her feet: little limbs with a delicate ball of a heel but a long narrow stretch to her dainty toes. The nails there too were drenched with something thicker and darker. The limb rose, causing the skirt to shift and his eyes to glance away, before crossing over the other little knee. Her foot bounced as she sat back. Her cheeks continued to chew the good before sinking once more. She didn't take another bite of the item but stared down at the browned crust past thick lashes. He was suddenly staring at those lashes, their dark rim around her eyes that seemed to devour what was below. It was with the littlest effort from her that her gaze flicked up. It was of the greatest effort on his part not to gasp. Her eyes were liquid silver. They were brighter than the moon, stronger than metal, and he hated the fact that he met them. 

His shoulders stiffened beneath her glaze, hands clung a little more together, and a bead of sweat trickled down his neck and into his descended scuff. Another would have fallen if she hadn't looked down. Her hand turned, rotating her treat before her lips quirked to a corner. "I don't like that all that much, " she commented, her voice positively stunning and painful to his ears. A simple comment and his ears ached lightly. It was easier to listen to her now, but he still desired to draw his own nails across the insides of his canals, rendering maimed deaf, or... 

He sat back in his seat, his clasped hands breaking for one to rest down on the cushion and the other on his thigh. His chin was raised high, and his eyes trained on her face. "Can I offer you something else then?"   
  
Her eyes glanced back up at him, and his core clenched. Say yes, his conscious whispered as his nails drew into the gold fabric. She shrugged and set the, now, dirtied item down before reaching and picking up a small, bone-white bowl. It was oval, like a vase, with a little, lotus rim where a lid would fit. It was meant for high tea, but she had moved it closer to herself, discarded the button lid, and stuck a spoon in it. She picked it up now and ran the spoon around its inside. "I'll try this."   
  
His shoulders relaxed some and found a breath entering his lungs. Despite her words, she only continued to turn the spoon around and around. It served as one of the few sounds for the scene. Her feathers were the other, but even then, the third was only a faint rustling of work occurring far away in the house. The cleaning, carrying, quiet conversations between the staff were comfortable hums. He knew the daily sounds, but even they were stale in this hot midsummer's day. Nothing was supposed to happen. 

The female continued to turn the spoon around, staring down into the bowl with the spoon turning. She raised it up a bit higher, bringing the spoon to her slimly parted lips. It was then that sound was admitted from the open entrance. "Um, sir?" 

The man's head turned, short hair now ruffled, and shadow darker. The maid was surprised to see that upon her master, and more in the look of his green eyes. Her form, short but full beneath her issued uniform, stiffened. She held a tray between her white, gloved hands. On the metal surface, laid letter, a red seal pressed to its neat front. Without another word, he waved her over, not answering a question or addressing her rising shock. Once she stepped close enough, he reached over and snatched the item up. The girl, far younger than he but old enough to be called a lady, stood even stiffer. Her head was turned, the tray pressed to her full chest as she stared straight at his company. Distracted, the man only slit the letter open via a discarded knife and pulled the paper out. It never came far, before after a part was unfolded and slid out of its sleeve, he tossed the item to the far side of the couch. The maid glanced back at him. "Sir?" 

He sat deeply back, sighing, before bringing a hand up to his paling face. "Leave," he commented shortly, impatience and anger rising quickly, in his exhausted voice. The girl stiffened, not expecting such, before giving a short bow, causing a crease to run down her long skirt. With a short glance to the other, she moved out, her back visible in the next room over. He did not glance to her, but rather kept a hand over his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. The woman, on the other hand, had leaned forward. The bowl was now balanced on a knee, while her arms hung forward in a similar knit. Her head was turned towards the entrance, eyes beaming, while a green stretched across her lips. He saw a glimpse of it past his fingers. Her teeth were white and straight, lining pretty in her mouth. They curved over each other in the smile, a striking smile, but even in its brightness, it was not kind. 

"How cute," she cooed, her neck crane. "She's like a little mouse, no," she cut herself off, as she sat back. "That's not right at all. No mouse, more like," a nail tapped at her lip before striking her teeth. Her lips turned more, "a thumming moth." 

His eyes turned on her as he fixed his own posture. His hands moved across his chest, brushing the vest out a little. Those remaining buttons were beginning to bite into his stomach in their closure. He was looking forward to undoing them to, along with else to unwind. For now, he stared at the female. "I do not understand who you are," he begun the same tone, but even it was fading, "Nor what condition you are..in," his eyes trailed over her dress. "But I can help you if you are in trouble." 

The female's eyes did not widen. She didn't look at him in surprise, in hope, in appreciation, distrust, or even anger. She didn't look at him at all. The woman picked up her bowel again and played with that blasted spoon. "Who sent the letter?" she asked, still looking down at the cream. 

No, it was him who's eyes widened. His lips parted a little before clenching a bit tighter. "Now, madam, I can not allow you to stay here" Looking like that, "Without information! Were you hurt, are you lost?" Who are you? 

Her lips pulled into an open laugh, a faint sound with low quality to it. Her fingers turned, pressing the utensil to the ceramic side. Her eyes turned up to him, that silver so bright. Her features gained a light of maturity, something that tightened his gut, as she stared at him. Her lips were turned into the faintest leer of a smile and brows held over her eyes with utmost relaxation but clear confidence. He had seen that look only on a handful of men: bankers, lords, politicians, gamblers, his father, but never on a woman. "You hold such a nice big estate," she began, "strong walls, pretty picture," her lips turned to show teeth, "and cute servants. But you know your status isn't enough to hold onto it. You have a name of honor, such a nice family." Her head turned mockingly, "But that means nothing to people nowadays. The old days are dead and the new," her eyes flickered to the letter, "are rising with different power." 

Another bead of sweat dripped down his neck as he stared into those eyes. Her lips pulled to a full smile as she spoke more excited. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" 

His nails turned into the couch, "How do you know this?" 

Her lips parted, allowing her to trail the fat of her tongue over her teeth. "I've lived it many times. But I'm the one still here." She giggled, pulling the spoon out. "But, you may not be if those greedy men continue." She rose the item before putting it into her mouth. It sat in her lips for a moment before her eyes widened. She let out a gasp of delight. "This is wonderful!" She bounced from her seat. The previous image was ruined, but he could only sit, form slouched, as he stared at her. 

"Who are you?" he whispered, so faint. 

Her eyes slowly rolled to him, the light changing in them, to a darker silver. She bent forward, setting the bowl down before bringing the limb back to himself. She sat straight, her form perfect before standing tall. Her chin was high, and her eyes were gleaming down at him. That hair held around her face and flowed neatly down to her thighs. It would gain movement quickly as she took a clean, graceful step forward. "I won't give you my name," she told, calmly, perfectly. Her opposite leg moved forward. Suddenly, she was a step higher, on the table. Her foot balanced evenly at the edge; the other pointed down while her form remained straight. It bent forward, crossing lightly with a turn of her hips. She didn't look down, but her eyes perfectly on him. Her bare foot landed without a sound onto one of the few gaps on the table. The glass did not stir nor did the plates, and he could see a mark of mud left behind as her last foot lifted from the edge. Her shadow poured over his form as she leaned forward. "But you may call me Lieah." The foot followed through, planting on the carpet just before himself. Her next step was quicker, moving as soon as the other landed. She left the glass and ended with a knee between his own. She didn't stutter during the transition, nor did he see her fall. She was simply before him, hands planted on the outside of his thighs and near his own. Her back leg was pointed up and out while the other folded her body close to his. Her chest leaned close to him, and her face followed. The serene look had transformed in the second. A wide grin now stretched from ear to ear, balanced only by a few floating hairs. He felt her hands slide at his side, brushing his pants before climbing his chest. Those nails skimmed his flesh while smears of dark dirt crossed his skirt. His chest quaked under her eyes, his breathing breaking, as those hands came to cradle either side of his face. Her touch was delicate, soft as a bird perched on a branch, but he felt the muck spread from her fingers to his cheeks. Those fingers trailed lightly, brushing so slowly as she leaned to him. And when he breathed in, when his nostrils flared, he took in the scent of earth and iron. 

His eyes were trapped in hers. The silver was like nothing he had ever seen. They grew too close, allowing him to see the trim of the lashes and light in her eyes. Her eyes were broken into flecks, shifting in light with such brightness but darkening as they trailed out. At the border, he could see the darkest of the color; its movements were slow, gradual by the border of black, but by watching, he saw the truth. The darkest color slowly trailed up to the heart of her eyes with each pulse of blood and dilation. Her black pupils shrunk in excitement, causing them to be like pinpoints. It made the outer's action stronger, the ground they took over appear more. It all appeared like a brewing storm with dark clouds rising from every side until the light was swallowed, and he saw a gleam of himself in those pupils. Her words echoed with the image. 

"And I'm about to become your best friend~."

**Author's Note:**

> This is an introduction to a story close to my heart. It is only a shadow of its form, but this scene, of many, was strong enough to stick in my head all day. For you, I hope it serves an introduction to the strange world of "Shadowed Souls."


End file.
